The weight of Shadow
Episode 6: The Lockdown Broke Us, But The Truth Buried Us
Elara hadn't slept in days. Ever since Mira was taken away,
the world had grown quieter, yet heavier. Her phone remained blank—no messages,
no missed calls, no sign of the girl who once felt like home. Every minute
without her felt stretched, endless, echoing with the sound of memories Elara
wasn't ready to lose. She checked her phone repeatedly, even knowing it
wouldn't light up. Hope, as always, was both a flame and a blade.
Then, one evening, a letter arrived—crumpled, with no name,
no stamp, no return address. It had likely been smuggled into her mailbox, and
the handwriting was unmistakable. Mira's. Her heart pounded as she tore it open
with trembling fingers. But the words inside weren't addressed to her. They
weren't meant for anyone. It was a confession, a bleeding piece of Mira's soul
on paper. "Sometimes, I feel like Elara would be better off without me. I'm
just a storm in her calm. I love her, but I know I destroy things."
Love? The word stared back at her like a secret too big for
the envelope to hold. Mira had never said anything like this aloud. She had
smiled, she had teased, she had cried on Elara's shoulder, but she had never
said she loved her. And now, that love came in ink and isolation, sent from a
place Elara couldn't reach. She held the letter to her chest and let her tears
fall silently. That night, she couldn't sleep. She couldn't eat. And just when
she thought she might collapse under the weight of her own thoughts, her phone
buzzed.
It was a voice message. Not from Mira. From an unknown
number. The voice on the other end was hushed, nervous. A girl. "You don't know
why she was sent here, do you? She didn't just lose her phone. She lost
herself. And your name was the last thing she screamed before they took her."
Elara sat up straight, breath caught in her throat. The
words lingered in her mind long after the message ended. What had happened to
Mira?
What Elara didn't know—what no one had told her—was that
Mira's mother had found her journal. Dozens of pages filled with spirals,
drawings of fire licking the corners of dreams, and pages and pages of Elara's
name written in every possible emotion. There were confessions. Questions.
Fears. One particular line had pushed everything too far: "If Elara ever
leaves, I might just burn with everything else."
Her mother panicked. The words read like a warning, a
ticking time bomb. No one asked Mira what she meant. No one tried to
understand. They just labeled her. Unstable. Dangerous. Obsessive. The decision
came overnight. Bags packed. Phone confiscated. Journal destroyed. And Mira was
sent away. To a distant boarding school with metal gates, silent halls, and
rules stricter than prison.
But it wasn't healing that Mira found there. It was
punishment.
The moment she arrived, they stripped away her identity. No
phone. No freedom. Her reputation had already reached the campus. Students
whispered as she passed. *"That's the crazy girl. The one obsessed with another
girl. The one who snapped."
They pushed her tray away at lunch. Knocked her books down
the stairs. Mocked the way she curled her fingers into her sleeves when she was
anxious. Worst of all, one of the girls had somehow gotten a copy of Mira's old
journal pages. She read them aloud in the dormitory. Laughed at every tender
word Mira had written for Elara. "Burn yourself, freak," someone yelled one
night, and no one stepped in.
Mira didn't cry. She just stopped.
Stopped talking. Stopped eating. She scratched poems onto
tissues when she was alone in the bathroom because notebooks were banned. She
tried to sleep, but dreams turned into long tunnels of silence and shadow. Her
body weakened. Her voice vanished.
And at night, when the lights went out, the bullying didn't
stop.
One night, Mira lay in bed, eyes open in the dark. A group
of girls snuck into her room and poured water on her mattress. "Oops," one of
them whispered. "Did the freak pee herself again?" They stuffed her bag with
garbage, stole her socks, hid her toothbrush. Mira tried to stay still, to stay
quiet, but when she finally broke into sobs, they mimicked her crying like a
cruel choir.
That night, Mira curled up on the floor. She didn't sleep.
She didn't move. She just cried in silence until her pillow was soaked and the
sun had started to rise.
Still, one name lived inside her like a heartbeat.
Elara.
Far away, Elara's own life had taken a sudden shift. Her
parents had relocated her to a new school—a fresh start, they said. A clean
slate. But the universe had other plans.
It was the first day of the new term. Elara walked into her
new classroom, trying to quiet the storm inside her. She scanned the room,
expecting no one familiar.
Then she saw her.
Back row. Head down. Hair messy. Posture collapsed inward
like a shrinking star.
Mira.
Elara's breath left her body.
Their eyes met for just a moment. Elara opened her mouth,
but Mira looked away. There was no smile. No spark. Just emptiness.
Days passed. Elara didn't approach her immediately.
Something in Mira's face told her not to rush it. Instead, she watched.
Observed the way Mira flinched when anyone got too close. The way her hands
shook when she tried to write. She barely ate. Always sat alone. Every day
seemed like a quiet battle Mira was losing.
One afternoon, Elara watched in horror as Mira entered the
cafeteria, picked up her tray, and was promptly shoulder-checked by one of the
girls from her class. The tray flew from her hands, food spilling everywhere.
The room erupted in laughter. Mira didn't say a word. She simply knelt down and
began cleaning the mess with shaking hands. No one helped her.
Elara couldn't breathe. She stood behind the cafeteria
glass, heart pounding, fists clenched. She wanted to scream. To drag every one
of them out into the open and expose their cruelty. But she didn't move. Not
yet.
It wasn't until the next day that she exploded.
Mira was at her locker. The same group of girls had cornered
her again, grinning like hyenas. "Still writing love letters to your ghosts,
Mira? Or did they finally lock you up for real?"
Elara appeared out of nowhere.
"Enough."
Her voice echoed like thunder in the hallway.
The girls turned. Elara's eyes were blazing.
"She's not your entertainment. She's not your toy. You don't
know what she's been through. What you did to her. You think mocking someone's
pain is brave? It's disgusting. Leave her alone."
Silence.
Mira stared at her like she didn't recognize the girl
standing in front of her.
Later, they sat in the school garden. Mira had curled into
herself, knees hugged to her chest, staring at the soil. "Why did you do that?"
she asked, voice barely a whisper.
"Because no one else will," Elara said gently. "And because
I see you."
Mira blinked. Her voice cracked. "You shouldn't be seen with
me. They think I'm... broken."
"You're not broken," Elara said firmly. "You were hurt. And
they made it worse. But you're still here. That matters."
Tears slipped down Mira's cheeks. She didn't wipe them away.
That night, Elara went home and walked straight into the
living room where her parents were sitting. Her voice trembled but didn't
waver.
"We need to bring Mira back. Home. She's not okay."
Her parents exchanged glances. "Elara... that girl was
troubled. Her mother said she needed help."
"She needed love," Elara said sharply. "She needed someone
to ask her what was wrong, not ship her off like baggage. She was never the
problem. What happened to her in that place—the bullying, the silence, the
damage—that was the real danger."
She told them everything. The letter. The journal. The
broken tray. The mocking voices. The way Mira looked at the world now—like it
owed her nothing.
"Please," she whispered. "Don't let her be alone anymore."
There was silence.
Then, slowly, her father nodded.
"We'll talk to her parents. We'll try."
For the first time since the lockdown, since the fire, since
the fall apart of everything they knew, Elara felt the weight begin to shift.
And for the first time in weeks, she believed they just
might find their way back.
Together.
Author's Note:
Thank you so much for reading Episode 6 of Weight of Shadow.
This was one of the hardest chapters to write, emotionally, but also one of the
most important. It touches on real, painful topics—like emotional trauma,
bullying, misunderstood mental health, and the silence victims are forced into.
Mira's journey is not just fiction. It's the reflection of what many go through
in the shadows of our society, schools, and even homes. This episode shows that
sometimes, people don't need to be saved—they just need someone to stand beside
them.
Elara's choice to defend Mira when everyone else remained
silent is powerful. It reminds us that witnessing someone's pain and choosing
not to look away can change everything. That standing up for someone in their
worst moment can give them the strength to believe again.
If you've ever felt like Mira—silenced, hurt, judged, or
abandoned—know this: you matter. Your story matters. Your pain isn't invisible,
and you are not alone.
I hope you stay with Elara and Mira as they continue their
journey. Their bond, though scarred, is still alive. And sometimes, survival
begins when one soul says to another, "I see you."
Until next time, Stay soft, stay brave.
— The
Author -Aarya Patil